Cousteau's Got Nothing
by Blazing Fool
Summary: It is said that in the afterlife, the souls of the wicked are roasted forever in eternal agony. In some rare cases, however, they may instead be used as entertainment for the gods. Zhao would have preferred the roasting. [Crossover]


_((A/N: Okay, so I really don't deserve to be called an author anymore. You can blame Booter-Freak on deviantART for the concept. Please, please forgive me.))_

_Churning, bubbling, blue._

Even in death, he cannot escape the noise, the images.

_Icy grip encasing the torso, struggling to no avail._

It was said that in that special section of the afterlife, reserved for the souls of those less than savory victims of death, fire was the weapon the gods used for the punishment of their prisoners. A pit of flames in which the wicked burned in eternity.

Zhao supposed he hadn't been bad enough.

_The strong, wet fingers encircle him, solid and intangible at once. Water, ice, and something else._

This was his punishment, then; not to burn, but to drown. He had always burned. Drowning was something new- he didn't care for it much.

_The boy is reaching for him- and for a moment, he reaches back, his fierce desire to live overriding his hatred._

_But only for a moment._

So this was it, then. His glory had been stripped away from him by a group of children, and he was dead, so there wasn't anything he could do about it. He'd fought and struggled and been a child himself once, but in the end everyone grew up and got angry at the world. In the past when he was wronged, he had always found a way to fight back- until that blasted ex-prince, of course. But now, there was nothing to do but enjoy his own death again and again and again.

He had no real idea where he was, or if he even had a body. Did it matter? All he was aware of was water, blasted hateful _water,_ surrounding, encircling, holding him in an eternal icy embrace. This was any Firebender's worst nightmare. There was no sun, not the slightest hint of warmth- only dark, churning current.

Zhao had struggled- who _wouldn't_? -but it had made no difference. It had taken quite some time before his will broke, his screams of rage dissolved, and he gave in to stoic silence. He sat, lay, stood, whatever, in silence as he was assailed by his own final moments. Now the only noise aside from the waves came from his own phantom memories. Was this even the work of the afterlife, or was it his own _mind_ that threw the image of that fish-like Avatar monster at his again and again? Was this bubble of memory his own consciousness' method of protecting itself?

He was beginning to suspect that he would go mad very soon.

In a way, that was something of a relief. He had been called crazy many times in his life, but he knew he was not. Overambitious? Certainly. Evil? Possibly- he was _here_, after all. But insane, no. He had perfectly understood the consequences of attacking the moon, and for a brief moment he had almost turned back. But then the comforting anger returned and he had made his decision. No, he had not been insane… But at this point he would welcome the madness. It would be a nice distraction.

Occasionally the memories grew in strength and became living phantoms, specters hovering outside his sadly limited vision that mocked and laughed at him. The children, the prince, pointing and giggling. The fat old man chugged tea and passed unwanted judgment. Old Master Jeong Jeong berated him for the foolish path he had taken in life. Zhao had attempted to launch a fireball at the first of these illusions, failed miserably, and retreated into silence once more, ignoring them. He had precious little time left with his sanity, and would savor it for as long as he could. Let them babble- he supposed he would join them soon, have merry conversations about everything and nothing, forever.

So it was easy understand why, when the grating, high-pitched, unrecognizable voice first reached his ears, Admiral Zhao of the Fire Nation's elite Navy took no notice. Nor was he paying attention when his feet suddenly touched ground, loose and sandy as it was, for he was lost in his mind.

He did, however, notice when the salty water filled his lungs, as sudden and unexpected as a monsoon. He gasped and choked, instantly shocked out of his reverie. Had he thought he was drowning? Maybe metaphorically- but now it was_ real_, there was a _real feeling_ of being choked, and life burst into him like a bolt of lightning.

Somehow, he was alive, drowning at the bottom of the ocean _again_. What was the point of this? He'd been resurrected solely for the purpose of dying once more? Was this truly life, or was he still in the bubble, his mind finally snapped?

Zhao realized with cool certainty that it didn't matter. Whether it was real or not, he'd been offered life, and he didn't intend to lose it. He was not going to die again.

Not that this epiphany even mattered- where could he _go_? The admiral clawed at empty water and harvested all the air in his suddenly functioning lungs. He looked down, and then up- the sun had inexplicably returned, shining in hazy (his obviously hallucinating mind saw them as_ flowery_) patterns above him. And yet, there was ground beneath his feet. If the sun could be seen at this level, and if the water pressure hadn't crushed his head like a grape, then this had to be shallow water. If he made a break for the surface, perhaps he could survive. And then?

He would figure it out from there. He'd burn those bridges when he came to them. He always had.

Summoning every ounce of strength in his body, all too aware of his rapidly depleting air supply, staunchly ignoring the surprised gasp he seemed to be hallucinating, he raised his arms and pushed down, the universally sound method of swimming.

Nothing happened.

"Wow! Well, I guess it's a good thing I was heading over to-"

Zhao growled in furious astonishment, and immediately regretted it, for precious air bubbles escaped his lips in the process. _Impossible_. He thrashed his limbs, clawing upwards- nothing. _He couldn't swim up_. Despite being surrounded by water, entrenched in the bottom of the sea, the laws of gravity still applied as though he was on land.

"What's the matter with you? Ooh, is that some new dance move? Let me give it a try!"

He clutched his throat, finally becoming aware of the voice next to him, as well as its owner- currently waving his yellow limbs in an eerily perfect imitation of Zhao's pitiful swimming efforts. Zhao felt his hopes at survival plummet in his chest, and he resigned himself to a return to the watery bubble of limbo. If his mind was offering him lunatic visions of a walking, talking, buck-toothed yellow square, it was just _over. I die twice, it seems. That's legendary enough in itself, I suppose…_

The creature ceased its mad giggling and looked over at Zhao (currently turning a lovely shade of blue) a concerned look that positively reeked of motherliness. "Ohhhhh, you must be like Sandy! Here, I was bringing this over to her house, but I think you need it more."

Zhao ignored the yellow thing and closed his eyes, allowing the shroud of death to slip over him for a second time. For a moment he had thought he had been given a second chance, but the fact that the laws of physics no longer applied was a sure sign that the gods were just toying with him. Perhaps this was their game- to kill him in as many different fashions as possible before tossing him away like a broken doll. Well, next time they wouldn't catch him off guard. Next time he would be ready, and would not let his chance at life slip away. Next time-

The water was gone- air, sweet, life-giving air filled him.

He opened his eyes.

The aquatic world before him seemed distorted somehow, as though he were looking through an orb of glass. It took him a moment to realize that this was indeed the case. He reached his hands to his head and ran them over the glass construct surrounding his face. Ingenious… This must be a work of magic. The glass orb slipped over his head as easily as a helmet, and somehow retained limitless air despite being connected to no tube or tank.

"Dahaha! That was a close one!" the voice from his left giggled. "Where did you come from, anyway?"

Now that his life was no longer in extreme danger, Zhao looked over and assessed the creature that had apparently saved his life. It was a square. A talking, bright yellow, buck-toothed, hole-filled square.

The firebender raised an eyebrow.

The creature opened its impossibly large mouth and laughed nasally. "Nice sideburns! I had sideburns once, but my grandma told me they were stupid. _I_ think they're cool, though. I'm Spongebob- what's your name?"

Zhao realized he owed this thing- this "Spongebob" -his life.

Why couldn't he have just stayed in limbo?


End file.
